the night I drove into the prairie

The night I drove into the prairie, I thought I saw a bear slam into the window of the car, even though there are no bears in Iowa.

But if there were, and if she had, would I have known why? Would she have carried a message, a symbol, a meaning, in her bared fangs and crescent moon claws? Would I have jumped at the thud of the weight of all her hibernations, startled at the coarse fur and strings of saliva smeared like a threat against the pane, and suddenly known the reason for all of this?

Or would it just be a bear, and a night, and a car, and a face distorted by crying, and a sad song on the speakers, and a scream from a throat that no one could hear but the bear and whatever horrible thing chased her?

Photo by Olen Gandy on Unsplash

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Hi, look, I’m fine! Don’t worry! Sometimes I write very intense things because I am a person with big feelings but LOOK, here’s me playing matchy-matchy with my big sister over Christmas at our parents’ house!

My question for you, should you choose to grace the comment box with your answer:

Have you ever sat in your car to scream or sob, whether in your driveway or in the middle of a prairie? This is not just me, right?

If you haven’t, you should. It’s highly cathartic.

Much love and peace,

Shannon